Monthly Archives: December 2021

snow buddy.

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a wonderful community initiative

happened in a nearby neighborhood

when they got together and purchased a ‘snow buddy’

anyone who is at least 18 can train and sign up

to take a turn clearing the sidewalks

each time it snows

all are welcome to take a shift

anytime i’ve seen someone

out in the snow buddy

they are always smiling

 i’ll bet the whole neighborhood is smiling.

“summer friends will melt away like summer snows, but winter friends are friends forever.”

– george r.r. martin

new light.

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as you step on, vacuum, sweep-up, curse, recycle

those painful and elusive pine needles

fallen from your wreaths, trees, garlands

stop a second to take a very close look

at the beauty of a sliced pine needle magnified

and you may see them in a new light. 

“seven clans” – photo by elm mitchell

“the close-up says everything”

-marlon brando

mrs. ticklefeather is missing.

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as a collector of the classic golden books

i am endlessly fascinated

by their history, artwork, authors, short tales, and backstories

i finally found and ordered one i’d been looking for

“lucky mrs. ticklefeather”

which seems to have quickly made it’s way through multiple cities

only to land in detroit a few weeks ago

where is has remained

stuck in an ‘in transit’ status

ever since its arrival.

will *mrs. ticklefeather ever be found?

is she still considered lucky?

is there a rival golden book collector near me

looking for the same book?

does paul her pet puffin, have anything to do with this?

it remains to be seen and i remain hopeful

this story isn’t over yet. 

*Book summary – Rare ~~ Mrs. Ticklefeather was a very thin old lady with a good sized feather in her hat, and on her feet she had tall black shoes with plenty of buttons. She lived on the top floor of a terribly high building because the top floor is the best place for getting sunshine, and, Oh, what a good thing sunshine is for thin old ladies. When her pet puffin, Paul, goes missing, the elderly Mrs. Ticklefeather becomes very upset, but the next day Paul returns and brings with him a special gift that brings her great and unexpected happiness. Great illustrations in mid- century yet modern style.

“hope is the last thing ever lost.”

italian proverb

thirty one cents. (and lots of interest due)

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many years ago

way back in first grade

i took thirty one cents

from hillman bailey III’s open desk

it was a matter of greed and opportunity

that spurred me on

i was really wanting candy from the store

 sitting right in front of me

there appeared thirty one cents

almost dropping in my lap

i would repay hillman one day

when i got a job

at least this is all what i told myself

when i bought candy at the store

with my windfall

it didn’t taste as good as i expected

 feeling lousy inside

i never told hillman

never made any attempt to make the situation right

but over the years i’ve thought about it

from time to time

 today when paying cash at the grocery store

 thirty one cents

dropped into the change slot

 left it for the next person

maybe they had a child who wanted candy

 silently said i was sorry

donated it back into the universe

on behalf of hillman bailey III

trying to make good on my word.

“guilt: the gift that keeps on giving.”

-erma bombeck

still standing.

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The lighter penguin is an elderly female whose partner died this year. The darker one is a younger male who lost his partner two years ago. Biologists have followed them as they meet every night to comfort each other. They stand for hours together watching the lights in Melbourne. Photographer Tobias Baumgaertner captured this image of two widowed fairy penguins looking over the Melbourne skyline. It has won an award in Oceanographic magazine’s Ocean Photography Awards 2020.

“at the end of the day, the ones who really matter

will be the ones standing next to you watching the sun set

and assuring you that it will rise again in the morning.”

-ash sweeney

 

 

 

 

story credit: natureblowsmymind

an answer.

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THE NIGHT TRAVELER

Passing by, he could be anybody:

A thief, a tradesman, a doctor

On his way to a worried house.

But when he stops at your gate,

Under the room where you lie half-asleep,

You know it is not just anyone—

It is the Night Traveler.

You lean your arms on the sill

And stare down. But all you can see

Are bits of wilderness attached to him—

Twigs, loam and leaves,

Vines and blossoms. Among these

You feel his eyes, and his hands

Lifting something in the air.

He has a gift for you, but it has no name.

It is windy and woolly.

He holds it in the moonlight, and it sings

Like a newborn beast,

Like a child at Christmas,

Like your own heart as it tumbles

In love’s green bed.

You take it, and he is gone.

All night—and all your life, if you are willing—

It will nuzzle your face, cold-nosed,

Like a small white wolf;

It will curl in your palm

Like a hard blue stone;

It will liquefy into a cold pool

Which, when you dive into it,

Will hold you like a mossy jaw.

A bath of light. An answer.

 

 

credits: poem from Twelve Moons, 1979 by Mary Oliver, painting – google images